With her back against the wall
by Onceforthefun
Summary: Jane is still struggling to come to grips with Michael's death, when Petra shows up on her doorstep unannounced one night, twins in hand, and demanding to move in. Petra gives Jane two months to find a new place to live, but Jane's not going to give up the home that she and Michael picked out together without a fight...
1. Chapter 1

Jane Gloriana Villanueva used to believe in true love with all her heart. From the moment that she witnessed the transformative power of Stefana Rodriguez de Soto's impassioned love bring Raul Banuelos back from the near dead in _Las Profundidades de mi Amor_ play out on the TV, Jane believed with her entire being that love could not only heal all things, but that she too would someday find that one great love. And she'd been right. Her brief love affair had been one to rival any of the stories she saw played out on her screen. She had met Michael Cordero, Jr., under usual circumstances, and it had been as close to love at first sight as it was possible to be. From that initial attraction, they had grown to be best friends and lovers. Michael had pretty much been the perfect man in every way Jane needed: he encouraged her, he shared her passions, he took the time to get to know her, and they lived by the same moral code. He knew exactly what she needed, he allowed her to be selfish at times, and he gave with all that he was. He was the man that romance novels were written about. He was her soul mate. Her one, true, love. The one that she could believe in.

But Jane Gloriana Villanueva didn't believe in love stories anymore.

Jane had just put Mateo down for the night when the storm hit, wild, dangerous, and unrelenting. She was used to the almost daily afternoon showers in Miami, but what was currently taking place outside the house was no afternoon shower. The sky had been overcast all day, but once the sun went down, the rain started, and now they seemed to be in the thick of it. Earlier Jane had checked the weather reports to make sure that it wasn't a tropical storm brewing, or worse, and the smiling face of John Gerard had assured her that it was just a summer storm. That knowledge did little to set her mind at ease, though, because the true storm was in Jane's heart, and that wouldn't pass nearly as quickly as the one raging outside her door.

After standing in the doorway of Mateo's room for half an hour, Jane quietly closed the door, fixed herself a glass of wine, and slumped into one of the dining table chairs, preparing herself to weather through the long night she was facing. Her fist unconsciously tightened against the papers that she held in her hand, crinkling the already crinkled pieces of paper that she had unconsciously been carrying around with her for hours. She had already read through the pages several times over, but she stared down at them now, smoothing them out on the table in front of her. It was the coroner's report. Surrounding all the medical mumbo-jumbo was the conclusion that Jane knew, but broke her heart to have to read: Michael Cordero, Jr. was dead, and it had been declared a homicide.

The report was the period to a sentence that she had been hoping would never find its end. 14 weeks after their wedding day, 14 weeks after she had discovered his body on the floor of the hotel hallway, covered in _so_ much blood, and 11 weeks after Michael had succumbed to his injuries and passed away, the results of the autopsy had been sent to her, and Jane could no longer pretend that her love was anything but dead. She couldn't pretend that Michael was on some secret, undercover assignment; that this was another clever attempt to draw out Sin Rostro or Mutter. She and Michael had not fought, she had not gone back to Rafael, or realized that she had feelings for another man. That would have been so much easier on her heart than the fact that the man that she loved, the first man that she loved, the one that she was supposed to start a family and a life with in this very house, was dead.

They had buried him a week ago and Jane hadn't really stopped crying since.

Jane had been slowly withdrawing herself from her family ever since Michael had been declared dead 11 weeks ago, but she hadn't talked to anyone but Mateo since the funeral, and that had been in very limited quantities. The only reason she still had Mateo at all was because Rafael was currently in jail, and she feared that if she dropped him off at her ma's, she might never go back to pick him up. She feared that if she didn't have Mateo around as a constant reminder, she might not remember why she was supposed to wake up every morning.

She was worrying her family, she knew. They had all called. They were all desperate to hear her voice and Xo threatened that if Jane didn't pick up the phone soon, she would break into the house, still Jane ignored them all. She ignored her mother because she didn't want Xiomara trying to convince her that things would be okay, and that she just needed to occupy herself while time did all the healing. She ignored Lina who suggested that getting drunk would make the hurt go away. She ignored Rogelio and his kicked puppy-dog face, and his tears over losing his brogelio, and she ignored Rafael's collect calls from the Turner Guilford Knight Correctional Center, because as much as she knew he needed her right now to aid in his defense, she just didn't have the capacity to care. She even ignored her grandmother because she knew that she, of all people, actually understood what Jane was going through, because Alba had also lost the love of her life once. But Jane didn't want to be understood; she wanted to grieve. She wanted to feel terrible, and mourn the fact that the love of her life, her other half, was dead, and nothing in the world would bring him back.

As the storm did its best outside, Jane's eyes rose enough to look at her surroundings. This was the house that she and Michael were supposed to turn into a home. They had gotten a little bit of a stat on it, there had been some things moved in, but it was still mostly empty because they'd been waiting until after the wedding to move in together. It was a good thing, Jane thought bitterly, that there wasn't much in it, because she knew that she would have to move soon, and there wouldn't be much that she'd have to pack up. Honestly, she should have cancelled the lease as soon as Michael had been pronounced dead, because with her income, and his survivor's benefits, she could barely make the lease every month, and she knew that she would eventually run out of money, but she couldn't bring herself to leave, not yet. It was all she had left of him, and as practical as she usually was, she wasn't ready to say good-bye. Not yet. And the thought of moving back in with her mom and abuela was just so suffocating at the moment, that it made her unable to breathe, just thinking about it.

Not far from where she sat, Jane's thesis lay where she had last set it down. She hadn't written a single word since Michael passed. For the first time in her life, her fingers didn't itch to tell a story, her brain was still, and her mind had stopped whirring. Writing had always been a release of sorts, for Jane. It was a way to make sense of her world, to put her innermost thoughts and desires, her questions, and her hopes, down, to cement them, to make them come alive. She always viewed writing almost like the sibling she never had. She never imagined that the flow of words would ever stop, but she hadn't so much as written out a sentence since her wedding night. Her inner voice had grown quiet, and the silence was deafening.

Jane sat unmoving at the dining room table until her eyes got so heavy that if she blinked she'd instantly be asleep. She forced herself to her feet, to go through all of the rooms to make sure that the house was locked down. When she got to the front door, she was startled by a thunderclap that was loud and frightening. Just then it hit her like a fist to the face: she didn't have Michael around to make her feel secure, to assure her that everything was going to be okay. It was just her. Just Jane, a widow and not even 30 years-old. Jane sunk to the ground in a fresh fit of tears, terrified and oh so utterly alone, as the wind and rain beat against her door. As Jane sat there, listening, she heard a distinct noise on her porch, almost like someone was out there. Willing herself to not even so much as breathe, she listened intently. There! There it was again. Someone was out there!

Petra pulled her car to a stop, and checked in the backseat to make sure that the girls were still asleep. They were. Fast asleep, and unable to comprehend that there was about to be another severe change in lives that had already experienced quite a bit of trauma in such a short amount of time. Obliviously, they slept on, both contentedly strapped into the matching car seats that had been suggested by Rafael which had probably been influenced by Jane, because for nearly two years now, Petra's life had, in one way or another, pretty much revolved around Jane Villanueva. She even had to endure comparisons to how much fucking better Jane was about being a mom then Petra was, and the comparison wasn't even close.

Petra hated the damn baby seats. It didn't matter that the car seats easily fit onto the double baby stroller that was necessary for getting around by herself, or that it was top rated, Petra hated the thing merely because it seemed to have Jane's signature on it. The stroller in question was folded up and in the back of her mid-size SUV, resting beside two small, but designer, suitcases that contained every piece of baby clothes Petra had been able to get her hands on. There were also two fully filled heavy-duty diaper bags, and all of their toys. It was so freaking domestic, it made her sick.

Petra took a moment to lament the loss of the sports car she had given up for the one she was driving now. Her beloved convertible didn't have nearly the space that she'd need for the girls so she'd had to get a new vehicle, but she refused to buy a mini-van. She'd settled on a GLS class Mercedes, after declaring that it was sporty enough to not be confused as a mom wagon, but would give her the space she needed to cart around all of the twins' things. Not that she ever intended to be _that_ mom. It had fully been her plan to 100% utilize her nannies and nurses to take care of all things Anna and Elsa related: drive them to their events, classes, plays, recitals. What was the point of having money, if it didn't spare you from having to do all of the unpleasant things?

Ignoring the storm, Petra took a minute to watch the two sleeping babies. _Her daughters_. The concept was still something that took time to get used to. She had taken Jane's advice and talked to a shrink, and had been working through her issues and depression. She had thought she was making headway, too. She had lit up the first time she'd heard Elsa laugh, but then all of that progress had effectively been washed down the drain as soon as Anezka stuck that needle in her arm. All of the bonding that she had done, all of the working through her feelings of inadequacy, all of the time that she had started spending with the girls? Gone. Now months had passed, and they seemed like strangers again. They didn't know each other. She had missed out on the important developmental months, but if there was one thing that Petra could take away from this whole experience was that she had never spent so much time thinking about her daughters as she had over the last couple of months. The only other person she had thought about more was Jane.

Jane. God if there was something Petra could do, some pill to take that would have erased that damn girl from her life, she would have taken it gladly, a million times over. No, her marriage hadn't been great, and yes she was enthusiastically cheating on her husband, but if Jane had never showed up…She didn't really know the end to that statement, but her life had certainly become completely derailed after they met. Rafael might have still left her, but it might have taken him five more years to do so. Her mother would have still been the cold, evil, witch that she was, but perhaps with the money, she would have been able to separate herself from Magda, put her up in a nursing facility or something. She didn't know, maybe she would have run away with Zaz. Maybe anything. The second those brown locks, and brown eyes, and full caring heart barged her way into her world, though, Petra's whole world had changed. And she wanted it back.

She hated Jane. She was just so sweet, so innocent, and so god damn interfering. Jane never knew when to mind her own business. Jane never knew when to back off and leave things alone. Jane didn't know how to not be so loveable. Petra loathed that she had managed to so thoroughly wrap Rafael around her finger. She hated that Jane was the girl that everyone in the world seemed to want. She hated that guys would trip over themselves just to please her, because how could you not want to please Jane? How could you not love her when her capacity for love was off the charts and so fucking genuine. Jane stole everything that Petra wanted and had, but despite all that, every time she wanted to hate her-and Petra _really_ wanted to hate her- Jane made it so that she couldn't.

How could Petra ignore the fact that it wasn't Rafael at her side when her daughters were brought into the word? Or how much she had attempted to work on a solution to Petra's Milos problem? And the hospital…for the first three weeks of her months long nightmare, Jane would come into her hospital room and talk to her. Petra knew that it was just because she had come to speak to Michael, knew that she only came into her room when she was taking a break from watching the love of her life die from wounds he'd never recover from. She knew Jane's visits were merely a bid for escape, but that hadn't stopped those visits from breaking up the monotony, from giving herself something to look forward to, to making her feel seen, and present, when no one else had.

Even though Jane stopped coming by once Michael had died, for those first few weeks, Jane had been there while Petra had been trapped inside of her body, and once she was gone, daily she was reminded of how truly, truly alone she was in the world. Once she was gone, she was trapped with no one to notice, no one to care, and no one to realize that the person that they had spent _years_ around was not the person who was currently floating through her life. How the hell could no one notice! She had been married to Rafael for five years! They had slept together! Anezka didn't know how to run a hotel. She didn't know how to be her. How could no one notice?

Petra wishes that she could say that she never felt as alone as she had the day that she woke up in the hospital, but the truth was she'd always been alone. She had lived her life thinking that she was the only daughter of a woman who never wanted her. She and Jane had a lot more in common than they had ever given credence to. Both of them had been the result of young and foolish love (Magda had let it slip once that she had fallen in love and Petra had been the result. Her father had disappeared once he found out the news, and Magda vowed to never make the same mistake again), but whereas Jane had grown up knowing the love of her mother, and grandmother, and had been nurtured and treated like a treasured jewel, Petra had grown up in contempt. She had grown up feeling like her mother was keeping tabs on everything that she did for her daughter. That every outfit that was bought, every meal that was cooked, every minute that was spent on her, was all borrowed time that she would someday have to pay back, and she was right.

Magda's love was conditional, and she expected to be taken care of as soon as Petra could do so. Petra quickly learned how to cook, to clean, to keep house. When she protested, her mother would shout at her that she was teaching her how to be someone's wife one day. She fed Petra as little as possible, and if Petra ever complained about being hungry, Magda would jeer that it was good, because men didn't want fat wives. She was forced to learn the violin as a means for income, and she hated it. She hated that she had been forced into learning how to play because it might have been something that she actually enjoyed doing had she had the chance to properly. As a child, she would sneak away whenever there was opportunity, and listen to the orchestra play. She knew how to sneak into the opera house, and she'd stay, sometimes for hours, in the dark, crouched down behind an old forgotten box and smushed between a broken chain link gate, and she'd close her eyes, listen, and be carried away. When Magda had first 'gifted' her with the violin, she thought it was the start of dream. Magda quickly killed any such notion.

She made her practice until her fingers bled, and then practice some more. She made her play to the point that she hated the violin, and all sound that came from the instrument. Petra had had drams of breaking the piece of metal, plastic, and wood, or beating Magda with it, but as terrible as the woman was, she was still rodina, still family, the only family that Petra had in the world. Or so she thought.

Then along came Anekza. Unpolished, unlettered, unloved. She was a wreck of a human being, with Petra's face. She was who Petra might have turned out to be, had Magda not been her mother: still innocent, still kind. Even though Anezka was the kind of person Petra had spent her life trying to distance herself from, Petra couldn't get over the fact that she had family. Someone who loved her, someone for her to protect, maybe even one day someone she could love. But then, on a day when Petra had come back feeling alone, more alone than usual, on a day when she had bonded with her girls for possibly the first time, Anezka had taken all of that away. And no one had noticed. Except Jane. And that, too, infuriated her. The debt that she had accumulated with that woman, she knew she could never possibly repay it, and Petra hated feeling indebted to anyone.

Petra wished she could say that she never felt more alone than she had that day, but Petra was always alone, would always be alone. She was the only person in the world looking out for Petra, and not even the two girls in the backseat could change that. Petra had herself to look after, and the one conclusions that she had come up with after week after week of being trapped inside her body was that as long as there were the Janes in the world, the Petras would keep coming up snake eyes.

Petra's eyes fell on the gun that was sitting on the seat beside her, and was reminded of what she had come here to do. She was alone in this place; she didn't anticipate anyone stopping her. She checked to make sure the safety was still in place, checked the chamber to make sure that the gun was loaded. Her eyes fell to the house across the street, the house that Petra had bought and had subsidized so that Jane and Michael could afford to live in the city. Through the heavy down pour she saw Jane's shadow move through the house, probably locking doors, turning off lights. Arming the alarm. For the first time in Jane's life, _she_ was the one who was alone.

Making her decision, she picked up the gun, and emerged into the deluge that she had somehow not truly noticed. Petra tilted her head up to the sky, taking in the feeling of the rain soaking her to the bone, marveling in the fact that the rain covered everything, including her tears.

The shadow of Jane had disappeared from the window, and Petra knew it was now or never. She opened the back door of the SUV, making a mental note of the twins. They had gotten bigger in Petra's absence, filled out and had gotten chubby. If she was looking at both, she could tell, a little, Anna from Elsa without needing any prompting. She had been startled, the first look that she'd gotten of them after she'd been un petrified, to realize that they'd changed in her absence. She didn't know her daughters, and she was tired of feeling like she never would.

Petra left the girls in the car, as she picked up everything that she could gather into her arms, and made a quick dash across the street. She overestimated her strength, and ended up dropping a few items unceremoniously on the ground. She tensed, waiting a few seconds, but when no one moved, she continued with her mission, going across the street again, this time to get the girls, and the remaining bag. Struggling slightly under the weight, she carried one carrier in each hand, checked and double checked that no cars were coming, and crossed the street. She had just made it up the steps, when the door swung open to reveal a bat yielding Jane, who paused, bat in mid-swing when she saw it was Petra standing there, soaked to the skin. "Petra?" she gasped.

Petra froze, and for a few seconds, she and Jane just stared at each other. But then Mama Jane immediately sprang into action. She took one of the car seats from Petra, bringing the baby inside and out of the rain, going back for Petra and the other baby, once Anna had been safely deposited inside the entry way. Jane pushed the plastic covering aside, making sure that first Anna, then Else were okay, before she spun on her heels to once again face Petra. "What are you doing here, and why on Earth do you have the babies out so late, and in this weather?" Jane was contented to see that the babies were sleeping peacefully, but that didn't keep the judgmental tone from out of her voice. Petra was amazed that Jane's hands hadn't managed to find themselves on her unnecessarily rounded hips. "Well?"

Petra didn't know what to say. She hadn't planned on encountering Jane tonight. It had been her plan to leave the girls sitting on the porch, Harry Potter style, no note, but really, would one be needed? But the rain and motherly instinct prevented her from doing that. What if something happened to them in the middle of the night? This was a good neighborhood, but even still. The whole purpose of leaving the girls with Jane was so that they'd be taken care of.

"While I am glad that you are out of the hospital, and I am happy to see you," she sighed, "I thought I made it clear that I didn't want to see anyone right now."

Petra's mind was wheeling as she struggled to find a way to explain her presence. She felt cornered and out of her element, so she did what she always did when she felt like that. She drew herself up to her full height, and looked down her nose at Jane.

The other woman looked horrible. Her hair was every which way, her eyes were red rimmed and it was obvious that she had been crying, a lot, her clothes were a mess, and stained with food. No guy would be falling over themselves over this girl, Petra thought a bit happily. "Oh, trust me, this is for business, not pleasure."

Jane's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm here," she began stiffly, "because this is my house." She could instantly tell that Jane was not expecting her to say that.

"I don't understand-,"

"When Rafael and I were going through our divorce, I purchased this house under my maiden name in case I needed a place to stay. For the sake of the Marbella I decided to lease this place to you at half the cost."

Jane balked at the woman in front of her. "You? You subsidized me and," her voice faltered, "Michael? Why?"

"Yes. It was a business decision. If you moved out of Miami, Rafael's mind would constantly be on you and Mateo, and not on business. I did what was best for the Marbella."

"Thank...you? I didn't know that you were subsidizing,"

"Well I was," she snapped, lest her motives be called into question, "And now I'm not." Confused, Jane didn't say anything, waiting for Petra to continue. If her rent doubled, she definitely couldn't stay here. "Because of Rafael's criminal activity, the Marbella's assets are currently frozen up in a federal investigation, as are mine." It was a truth. After so much hard work trying to escape the clutches of poverty, between Derek, Milos, and Anezka, she had pretty much lost everything. All she had left to her name was that damned Mercedes and this house, both of which had been purchased under the name Natalia and not Petra, and were, according to her lawyer, free from seizure as she could claim it as her primary residence and her primary vehicle. She had a couple of thousand dollars squirreled away too, but other than that, all of her wealth had been tied into the Marbella, and as long as it was seen as assets gained from illegal means, she had no access to it.

"I need a place to stay, and I can no longer stay at the Marbella,"

"You-,"

"And I refuse to have my daughters without a home." She exhaled. "So, since I am the legal owner of this property, I will be moving in."

Jane gaped at the woman. "You'll…? No. You can't move in here, Petra!"

Petra's back stiffened, and she lowered her most fearsome gaze at the shorter woman. "I don't need your permission, Jane, and I assure you I can."

Jane felt her face getting red, and she was feeling so many things at once, she couldn't quite but them to words. "Are you _serious_ , right now, Petra? Do you have any _idea_ what I've been through?"

"Need I remind _you_ of what _I've_ been through, and remind you just how much anyone cared about that."

"I am sorry,"

"It is unfortunate what happened to Michael, but he's been dead for nearly three months now." She saw Jane wince, but that didn't stop her from continuing. "I'll allow you to stay here long enough for you to find another residence, but I'll," she almost forgot about the girls, " _we'll,"_ she amended, "being stay here, too."

The two of them stared at each other, and there was the tiniest spark of old Jane playing behind her sad brown eyes. "You're unbelievable, Petra."

"Two months should be enough time, don't you think?" Petra shot back. "Unless you don't think that it will take you nearly that long, and you wish to be out by the end of the week?"

Jane realized that she was still holding the coroner's letter in her hand. She didn't see the slightest sign of compassion in Petra's eyes. "It's a cold world, Jane," Petra declared, almost as if Jane had spoken words aloud. "Get used to it."


	2. The quiet storm

Jane Villanueva had always considered herself to be a writer. Even before she was able to read, she would open up the brightly colored books her abuela would buy her with the leftover from her paychecks, and she would put her own words in substitute of the ones that were already written on the pages. She gave her lovable, but somewhat naïve characters, back stories, depth, complexity, things that were routinely missing from her simple children's books. She drew from her own experiences, and those that she saw on TV and the wider world around her, to enrich the stories. After working on them for days, sometimes weeks at a time, once she believed that they were perfect, young Jane would submit them to her most chosen group of dolls and teddy bears, and was not content until she had their approval.

Writing has always been as much a part of Jane, as her pledge to remain a virgin until marriage. It was who she was. As a writer, she often noticed things about people that other people missed: nervous tics, unconscious habits, pre-dispositions and subtle tells that would clue her in to what people were really feeling. Over the past two years, Jane had learned how to read Petra Solano. With the two of them in such close proximity, and the way their lives so thoroughly entangled with each other, it was an unconscious but necessary skill. She realized early on that Petra wasn't like her. Jane wore her emotions on her sleeves, but Petra was one of those glass houses that were so fragile at the core, that they surrounded themselves by the toughest armor they could find in order to disguise just how breakable they were. Once Jane realized this, she had been on a mission to kill Petra with kindness, to casually chip away at the rough edges until she was looking at the true woman inside. So Jane wasn't fooled by Petra's act of toughness and borderline cruelty when she showed up on her doorstep in the middle of the night. She sensed the desperation in her actions, but she was far too tired to try to dissect Petra's motives right now.

Instead her mind focused on the matter at hand. At the very least, Petra wasn't going anywhere tonight; there was no way Jane would force the babies back out into that storm. Ignoring Petra entirely, she cleaned out Mateo's play pen, and used a comforter to cover the bottom of the crib to make it a little more comfortable. She carefully moved the girls from their car seats, to the pen, and wrapped them up safely in a warm blanket. Her movements were so skilled that neither girl woke up as their worlds were subtly shifted. Once they were in the same space, though, unconsciously, the two girls moved closer together, Anna stirring slightly to grab a handful of her sister's sleeper. Deep, deep down inside of Jane, in the place where Michael's death hadn't yet touched, she 'awwed' at the pure cuteness of it. But just as quickly the warm feeling ended.

Attending to Petra was next, and Jane certainly didn't feel the same such warmth and tenderness towards her. Fury and pity raged equally inside of her as she stomped through the house, first gathering a few towels, and then to find something for Petra to sleep in. She hesitated when her hands came in contact with a pair of Michael's sweats and a t-shirt from the police academy, before pulling them completely out of the drawer. She swallowed back the sick feeling in her stomach in the name of practicality. Petra was too tall to wear anything of hers, and she couldn't let the woman spend the night in her soaked clothes. With a resigned set to her shoulders, she gathered the material in her arms, unable to resist smelling the clothing as she pulled it to her chest. They didn't smell like him, Jane realized sadly. They smelled like a deodorant that she knew Michael never used, and she realized it was one her abuela did. It didn't smell like him, but at least it smelled like home.

Petra was still standing awkwardly by the door, when Jane got back into the front room, as if Petra was torn between staying and fleeing. Jane noted that the other woman didn't look as if she had yet made up her mind about either. Jane cleared her throat and waited until Petra looked her way before throwing the clothing items at Petra. "You can dry off and change into that while I make up the couch."

Jane didn't know why she was bothering with being hospitable to the woman who was kicking her out, but she couldn't help herself. It was in her blood. Slightly off guard, Petra stared down at the clothes, before looking uncertainly back at Jane. If the roles were reversed, the last thing that Petra would be doing right now is making up the couch and offering Jane a change of clothes that obviously belonged to her dead spouse. Completely confused, she barked out, "The bathroom?" Jane pointed, and Petra left without a word.

Jane made up the too short couch as best she could, and then went into the front room, where the girl's things were crowded by the door. She gave a glance outside to find that there were a few more of their items out there, too. It gave a little credit to Petra's story, but conspicuously missing was anything belonging to Petra. There wasn't even a purse. Jane frowned, and tucked that information away for later use.

She had found a temporary space and was putting up the last of the things when Petra re-emerged. Michael's clothes were too big for her. She had to roll up the legs and the sleeves to make them fit lengthwise, and they were too big on her small frame. The sight should have been laughable, but Jane had to choke back a sob. Her mind flashed back to the first night she had spent over at Michael's. He had crawled into bed with her, wearing those very same sweats. Jane had been drunk and hadn't wanted to go home. It had been so awkward because they had both slept on their sides facing away from each other, because the desire to pull Michael on top of her had been so strong. How they had survived so long without having sex was still amazing to Jane.

"Good night," Jane said, abruptly, before she went rushing to her bedroom. She had just managed to close the door before behind her before the tears fell with abandon. She curled herself into a ball in the middle of the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

Mornings were hard for Jane. On the best of nights, she'd get just a few hours of sleep before she'd wake up from the dream (or nightmare) she'd been having of Michael. She dreaded the nightmares, but the good dreams could be just as bad, because they always felt so real, and waking up alone, and remembering that it was only _just_ a dream, broke Jane's heart all over again. Once she was awake, she couldn't fall back asleep, and Jane had no reason to get out of her bed until Mateo woke up and demanded her attention, so she'd lay awake with nothing to distract her from the never-ending thoughts of her late husband.

Mornings were when Jane had nothing but time to think about the fact that she was supposed to be waking up beside him, every day, for the rest of her life. She was mostly out of her 'it's not true' stage of grief, and had moved on to the 'it's not fair' one, where it just hurt all the time. They had not nearly had enough time to get to know and be with each other. They had barely even scraped tomorrow, much less forever. Every day hurt _so_ much. Jane didn't know how long she was going to have to feel like this, but even worse was the thought that there would be a point in her life when she didn't feel like this, when she didn't think about him all the time, when he didn't pollute her thoughts. That thought hurt just as much.

Jane usually was woken up by the sun, but the storm from last night had quietly subsided into a mild shower, where the rain came down in curtains, but softened all edges. The sun remained hidden behind a cover of clouds, and with the absence of that bright intrusion, Jane slept later than she had since Michael died. It wasn't a memory or the harsh end to a dream of Michael that forced her awake, it was an unexpected sound, and that feeling that there was something that wasn't right.

That feeling wasn't uncommon. Jane felt that way most mornings in this house. She had lived with her mom and abuela for 25 years of her life. The three women had lived on top of each other for more than two decades in quarters that weren't exactly the most spacious. It was cramped, and unforgiving, but it also meant that there was never too much space between the three of them. This house on Pinedale Avenue, was a new place, in a different part of the city than she was used to, with none of the history that her abuela's home had developed over the years. Jane missed the sights and sounds of the house that'd she grown up in. It was odd not to be able to call down the hall for Xiomara or Alba, or to hear them bickering about something, usually Xiomara's men or matter of dress. Someone usually had a pot of coffee brewing, and her abuela always cooked something before heading out the door. It was odd to be alone.

But unlike most mornings, Jane didn't wake up with the feeling that she was alone. She woke up feeling imbalanced because she had the distinct feeling that she wasn't alone in her house. She barely had a chance for that fact to sink in before she realized that the noise that had woken her was the sound of a baby crying. Almost on auto-pilot Jane sprang from her bed, slipped into her slippers, and strode toward the sound, passing by Petra, who was awake, and sitting very stiffly on the end of the couch. Jane paused in her stride, and it was apparent that she had already forgotten about her houseguest by the way she startled at the sight of the woman sitting awkwardly at the end of the couch, fists balled tightly in her lap. "Uh…morning, Petra," she said stiffly, remembering all at once this unexpected arrangement she had suddenly found herself in.

Petra jumped slightly at Jane's voice. Slowly she turned to look at Jane, and both women took the other in. Petra looked tired and on edge. Except for the part of the couch where Petra sat currently, the rest had been undisturbed, and it was clear that if Petra had slept the night before, it was sitting up. Jane was about to say something (she's unsure what), but her words were cut off by the sound of the baby's (not Mateo) cry turning more into an indignant yell. When Petra didn't immediately move, Jane did, rushing to the play pen, with only one thought in mind: right now only one of the three babies were awake; she wanted to keep it that way. Mateo slept fairly soundly now, but if it got loud enough he would wake up, and Jane didn't want to have to deal with a fussy Mateo all day. He was a welcome distraction from her never ending thoughts of Michel, but honestly she barely had the energy to deal with a normal Mateo. She didn't think she could deal with a cranky one.

Petra got up as Jane spread out Mateo's portable changing mat. She gently lifted the awakened baby out of the pen. "Good morning, mija," she cooed, with only half the warmth that she normally would have. Elsa gurgled, causing Jane to break from her mechanical movements, to stare down at the girl in her arms. She wasn't used to getting this up-close and personal look at the other woman's daughter. Mateo's sisters, she reminded herself. Rafael's other children. Petra wasn't the type to do mommy and me type of things, and whenever Jane had suggested play dates, Petra had simply dropped the girls off, or had hung around in the background, uninterested. Outside of their birth, and when she and Petra had gone to the mother's group together, she had had very few moments to just appreciate Elsa an Anna. She was unsurprised that they were twin beauties, but she was surprised to look down at the girl currently in her arms and see features that reminded her of Mateo. It tugged at the part of her that missed her son when he was this age. Every day had been something new to discover with him, and she had treasured every moment of it, lamenting the fact that she hadn't been able to be there for every one.

Jane was pulled out of her thoughts by Petra's sharp voice. "You don't have to do that."

Jane paused, not even realizing what she was doing. She stopped in the middle of laying Elsa down, and looked at Petra who had moved to get in front of Jane's line of sight. Jane kept a calming hand on Elsa's stomach.

"What?"

"I was going to do that." Petra's voice was as stiff as she had been sitting just a few minutes before.

" _Really?"_ Jane's voice relayed how little she believed that to be true.

Petra shifted. "Yes, really. You didn't even give me a chance."

Jane looked down at the squirming baby, lowering her fully to the mat before she looked back to Petra. "I didn't want her to wake everyone else, and you didn't seem to notice she was upset."

"I am her mother, Jane," Petra snapped. "Of course I noticed!"

Jane tilted her head for a second, before nodding. "No, you're right. She stood up, indicating for Petra to take her place. "By all means."

Elsa started fussing loudly once Jane stood. Petra awkwardly fell to her knees to crouch over the baby. Elsa. She corrected herself. She knew it was Elsa based off of the clothes that she had on. Elsa also was the one who had laughed at her misery. She had a mole on her right forearm.

Petra didn't feel _nearly_ as self-righteous as she had when she wasn't look at the business end of a big nasty. Jane gave her a bit of a smug look, as she oh so casually drifted out of the room. _Bitch_ , Petra muttered under her breath as she set her focus on the current task. Truth was that she had changed very few of the girls' diapers so far. She had the nurses for that, and she had been pretty hands off for most of their lives. She was the exact opposite of Jane, something else that occasionally ground on her nerves. Why did Jane get to be so perfect about everything?

Elsa was kind of whimpering at her, and looking at her expectantly, and she had something to prove, so she got to work…and immediately regretted not letting Jane handle this. This was _nasty._ Seriously, no one willing changed a baby's diaper. She decided it would go so much better the less pooh she had to actually touch, so she gathered up the baby, and took her into the bathroom. She seized on Mateo's bath thingy, and stripping Elsa of her onesie, she placed her in that, turning the shower on. Elsa didn't apparently like that, because she started to scream. Moments later, the sound was very softly chorused by the sound of Anna waking up.

"Anna's awake," Jane called, and it worked on her nerves that Jane apparently seemed to already be able to tell the babies apart. "Would you like me to get her, or do you have that, too?" she didn't bother leaving the sarcasm out of her voice.

Petra decided to ignore Jane, keeping focused on the task at hand: getting Elsa to stop crying and get her de-poohed. If Jane took care of Anna, she took care of her, if she didn't, she didn't; Petra would get to her as soon as possible. There was only one of her, and the girls would have to get used to that as soon as possible. Besides, it wouldn't hurt the baby to cry a little.

It got less gross the cleaner Elsa got, and Petra even succeeded in quieting the girl down. After a few minutes, and a thorough examination of the baby, Petra triumphantly turned the shower off. She was feeling accomplished, having managed to eliminate all waste with the shower head, and given Elsa a proper baby bath, with shampoo and everything. She was now gurgling contently, wrapped snuggly in her towel, waiting to be dressed. Petra could handle this. She really could. All she had to do, now, was get Elsa in a onesie, fix a bottle, and then rinse and repeat with Anna…

Only Anna didn't appear to need her. Apparently, she was in baby heaven. Jane had her situated in one of those ridiculous sling thingies (that Petra could never imagine herself _ever_ wearing). If that wasn't bad enough, Mateo was up and balanced on her hip, while Jane was making breakfast with her spare hand. Damn overachiever.

Jane turned at the sound of Petra's footsteps. "Mr. Sweet-face woke up a bit early," she said in a baby voice, "didn't he?" Even from a distance, Petra could hear that the voice that she usually used on her son was being faked. She was forcing herself to be cheerful. "Elsa all cleaned up?"

Petra looked from the baby she was holding, to the baby that was sitting contently snuggled against Jane. "You didn't have to do that," Petra snapped.

"You were busy with Elsa, and she was crying."

"It won't hurt her to cry for a few seconds! There's only one of me. I won't always be able to get to them right away when one starts crying."

Jane turned, held up a hand. "I was only trying to help."

Petra slapped a hand on the counter. "I don't need your help, Jane!"

Both Mateo and Jane gave Petra startled looks. "Ooo-kay," Jane said, softly. She sat Mateo down in his booster seat so that she could hand Anna over to Petra. "Sorry."

Petra immediately felt guilty, and overwhelmed, as she now had both babies in her arms, and she didn't even know how to take care of one. She sat the girls back in their car seats, and brought them back into the kitchen so she could fix each of them a bottle. Jane said nothing to Petra, talking exclusively to Mateo. Mateo, however, wasn't as committed to ignoring Petra as his mom was; he kept hitting her with judgmental glances that she studiously tried to ignore.

"I can take care of my children," Petra said, petulantly, breaking the silence.

Jane didn't face her, but there was a tense set to her shoulders. "I never said you couldn't."

"I might not be as _perfect_ as you are, Jane. But I can take care of the girls."

"I know."

"I might be slow about it, but there have always been the nurses, and Anezka," she faltered over her sister's name. She closed her eyes tightly to keep herself from doing something completely unacceptable, like crying in front of Jane. Shortly after Petra had forced Anezka to get a tattoo on her forehead declaring who she was, the woman had run off with what money she could get her hands on. Sadly, though, Petra actually missed her sister. Even though they had only known each other for just a short amount of time, and it had mostly been negative, Anezka was her family, her twin. She couldn't entirely fault her for falling prey to Magda, especially when she hadn't had a mother to call her own for her whole life. Petra had hoped, though, in time, that maybe they could have someday put all of this behind them, and work on becoming a proper family.

"I can handle it," Petra concluded, trying to convince herself of this. She hadn't expected to wake up this morning and the girls still be in her care, which is why she hadn't immediately rushed to take care of Elsa when she first got up. That and Petra was still getting used to the idea of being able to move when she chose to do so.

"Sorry, I won't try to help again," Jane conceded. "You're their mom."

"Thank you." There was an expectant silence, and when Petra turned to look at Jane, there was that look on her face as if she were waiting for something. "What?"

"Petra?"

"Alright, fine. I'm sorry, too. Are you happy?"

A ghost of smile briefly graced Jane's lips at the victory, but it was quickly gone. "Yes."

The rest of the morning seemed to pass with surprisingly little hiccoughs. By the time that the girls were getting cranky, and Jane was putting Mateo down for his nap, she was going stir crazy. She had had nothing to entertain herself with all morning, save for taking care of the girls, and Petra simply wasn't built to handle _this._ She definitely didn't have what it'd take to be a house wife. She was dying for some adult conversation, and it had only been half a day. She needed to get out, to do something, and without the distraction of the Marbella she was forced to realize something that had been painfully shoved in her face when she'd been petrified: she didn't have any friends. She could pretend that that wasn't the case when her days were occupied by her work, but with nothing but the girls, she realized that she didn't have any friends to call on, to vent to, even to just call up and see a movie with. That never really bothered her before (okay, it _always_ kind of bothered her), but it did now. The only thing that slightly resembled a friend was…Jane.

Not this Jane, though. This Jane was practically a ghost. All morning, it had been like watching a cheap imitation of the real Jane Villanueva move around the house. Her smiles (all directed to Mateo almost pointedly), looked less like real smiles and more like a person who was trying to come across as human by imitating human gestures. Her sugary words were without warmth. Even her movements were under exaggerated. She ghosted after Mateo as he played, only checking in when he directly demanded her attention. The most reaction Jane ever gave was when one the kids (it didn't matter which one), got too fussy or started to cry, and then she sprang into action, only to pause and to give a glance over at Petra before sitting back down, if the needy child was Anna or Elsa.

Petra felt bad at snapping at Jane earlier every time Jane shot her that look. Petra could be oblivious of other's people's feelings sometime, but she would have been blind and deaf to not realize how much Jane was hurting. The second Jane put Mateo down, she had disappeared into her room, and Petra was positive that she was wrapped up under the covers of her bed, crying into her pillow. If Lina or Xiomara were here, they'd crawl into bed with Jane, draw the woman to them, and let her cry into her lap. They'd stroke her hair, and tell her nothing phrases like, "It'll get better" or "It's okay," neither of which were true. Petra was not, and would never be that kind of person. Even before she completely ruined whatever friendship they had been building since Mateo had been born by showing up last night, Petra was not able to do something like that. She and Jane may have been building something close to friendship before, but things were still never that warm and fuzzy between them, and now they never would.

Petra was glad. She didn't want Jane as a friend. Not anymore. Although most people thought that Jane was charming and endearing, Petra saw her as an insufferable know-it-all with a superiority complex. She had never met someone that had to always be right (and it bothered her that usually she was). Petra had never wanted the woman in her life, and despite her best efforts not only had she not gone away, they had become something of friends. Petra thought that all of her relationships were improving, actually. She thought that she was making friends, that since she had become friendlier, people were starting to like her better. She thought she was loved by her sister. She had thought that she had become noticed, seen…and had been proven terribly wrong. She had done some terrible things, but she hadn't deserved what had happened to her (or maybe she did, that nagging voice in her head argued). And even worse than being unable to control her own body was the knowledge that no one cared. That no one even wanted her presence enough in their lives to notice that it was no longer there. So, no Petra didn't want Jane as a friend. She didn't want to put her faith in Jane only to have it thrown back in her face. Petra couldn't trust anyone; the sooner she realized that, the better off she would be.

A small sob made its way into the living room, and Petra paused. She wondered what it felt like to be _that_ much in love with someone. She hadn't been in love with Rafael when they'd gotten married (well she had, but didn't know it at the time), and had definitely not loved Lochlan. Milos, she had loved him, at first. Until the abusive side came out. But even now she wasn't quite sure if the love that she felt for him was because she loved him, because he had the potential to take her away from her obsessive and abusive mother, or because he professed to love her. She'd fallen in love with Rafael, but only once she realized that she was losing him to Jane. Now? Well let's just say she wasn't too upset that he was currently in jail.

Petra knocked lightly on Jane's door. There was muffled sound before a stuffy "Yes?" was offered.

Petra opened the door slowly, giving Jane enough time to wipe her eyes and pretend like she hadn't been crying. Petra was right, Jane was under the covers. Jane noticed Petra's gaze and gave a small smile. "Just thought I'd catch a quick nap while Mateo's down," she explained. She gave a false chuckle. "Got to catch them in when I can."

Petra ignored her rambling. "I'm going to go for a walk." The rain had subsided to a drizzle, and Petra decided that she needed a break. "Do you want to come?" So, maybe Petra didn't want Jane as a friend, but maybe she could ease some of the animosity between the two of them.

Jane sat up. "Yeah, that sounds great, Petra. Who's going to watch the kids?"

"They're sleep."

Jane rolled her eyes, her tone patronizing. "And what if they wake up?"

Petra bristled at the condescension. "Right. So, I guess, I'll just go?"

Petra was halfway turned when Jane questioned, "Are you taking Elsa and Anna with you?"

"That wasn't the plan. Do you mind?"

Jane fixed her with a stare. "No, I don't _mind_ ," she shrugged. "But you said you don't need my help, so…"

So much for extending an olive branch. Petra wanted to punch her. That was so not like Jane. Instead she just turned on her heels and went back into the living room, collapsing on the couch that she hadn't managed to sleep on last night. For months she had no control over her body, now she did, and she couldn't even go anywhere because the girls were like being petrified all over again. _Why, why_ did she ever decide that getting herself pregnant was ever possibly a good idea? She couldn't even remember why she felt it was so important to get Rafael back.

Petra stood up and started pacing the room, quietly, lest she wake up the girls. She didn't get very far before she had to turn back because the room wasn't nearly as big as the halls of the Marbella. What was she _doing_ here? The house wasn't exactly _tiny_ , it was the perfect size to _start_ a family in, but it wasn't even the size of her suite at the Marbella, and that hadn't had five people living in it. Was she really going to pretend to sleep on a couch for two months, and the girls, what, sleep in a playpen? When she had set out the night before, this had _not_ been the plan, but now that she was here, she planned on staying. Petra wasn't going to check out just yet, and this house was all that she had left; she wasn't going to just give that up. She needed to hold on to _something._ (And Petra simply couldn't be alone right now. She didn't trust herself).

Maybe…she and Jane could figure out a way to peacefully live together…Yeah, Petra wasn't that dumb. It was a two-bedroom house. Even if Mateo moved in with Jane, and she and the girls moved into Mateo's much smaller bedroom, it would still be a tight fight. A tight fit that would probably make all parties involved crazy. The only other, and better, solution was if the girls moved in with Mateo, but then where was Petra supposed to go? She could kick Jane out of the bedroom, but even she wasn't that heartless, and it wasn't like they could actually _share_ the room. Petra could camp out in the living room, but she couldn't survive on the couch for very long, and if they put a bed out here that'd be incredibly tacky. Not that either of them were likely to be hosting company any time soon.

In the middle of her musings, Jane stepped out of the room. She looked no better than she had when she went in. She had obviously been crying, and it didn't exactly look like she had bathed. Petra sniffed, probably in a while.

"I can hear you wearing a hole in the floor from the bedroom."

Petra paused in her stride. "I wouldn't think that you could hear anything over the sound of your crying."

Jane looked startled. Then she glared. "I was going to tell you that I'd watch the girls so you can go for a walk, but forget it."

Petra immediately felt regret, but she was not a big enough person to admit that. "Good. Because like I said, I don't _need_ your help."

"That's obviously not the case if you're here right now."  
Petra did not particularly like being called out on her lie. "I'm here, _Jane_ , because this is my house, no other reason than that."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Oh, right. I should probably write that down in case you forget that story later." Petra wondered when Jane had gotten so sarcastic. "But since you're here, we need to talk."

"I don't think that's entirely necessary. In fact, if we can manage to not talk at all the entire time we're living together, that would be incredible."

"And just how long do you expect us to be doing that?" Jane questioned.

"Not talking, or living here?"

"Um… that one."

"Until you find a new place."

Jane's face searched hers. Petra wondered what she was seeing. "Right, about that. If I let you stay here-"

"There is no 'let', Jane. I'm staying. I don't need your permission."

Jane's eyes narrowed, and Petra bristled at Jane thinking she had the upper hand in the situation. " _If_ I let you stay here," Jane repeated, "we need to establish some house rules."

"I hardly think you're in any positon to boss me around."

"We have a lease Petra. It's this little binding paper known as a _contract_. That means that you can't kick me out or raise my rent until the lease expires, in a year. You can try to buy me out, but I'm not going to go anywhere, and even if you were to sell the house, the lease goes with the house, not the buyer."

Technically…Jane was right. Again. "How do you possibly know that?"

Jane seemed surprised by the question. "I looked it up." She didn't say 'duh', but Petra felt like she wanted to.

They stared at each other. "Well, I don't care. I'm not leaving."

"Neither am I," Jane said, firmly. It was the strongest she sounded since Petra had showed up at the door. "And since we're both planning on living here, we need to set some ground rules."

So Jane wanted to create a list. How surprising.


End file.
